Where's the Girl?

By Felicia Ferguson

Rating:  PG-13

Keywords:  T/Other, P/T, J, C

Timeline:  Approximately six months into the P/T 
relationship (FYI…I've never seen the Equinox episodes, so 
please don't hold that against this story!)

Summary:  An encounter with her past forces B'Elanna to make 
some tough decisions about her relationship with Tom and her 
place on Voyager.

1/12

Janeway gazed thoughtfully at the blue-green orb that 
floated on the viewscreen.  Two hours ago, her chief 
engineer had announced in the weekly staff meeting that a 
major overhaul of the warp drive would have to be done 
within the next month, if not sooner.  If that news had not 
been bad enough, Neelix, the self-appointed morale officer 
had confirmed her suspicion that the crew was in desperate 
need of shore leave.  Between the glum faces in Astrometrics 
and the loud disagreements in Engineering, Janeway had 
inwardly promised Voyager would dock at the next M class 
planet - if only to get off the ship for a little while.  

And then, like magic, their haven appeared:  an M class moon 
which circled a gas giant only three light years away.  She 
had tossed a smile at Chakotay and directed Paris to lay in 
a course as relief washed over her.  The commander, who had 
over the years learned to read his captain quite well, 
smiled in return and leaned toward her.  "Shore leave 
applies to you, too, Kathryn.  Don't forget it."

She glanced back, a twinkle forming in her eyes, and nodded.  
"Oh, don't worry, Chakotay.  I'll be one of the first off 
the ship."

As Voyager neared the moon, Janeway sat up straighter in her 
chair and asked, "Mr. Tuvok, are you getting any readings 
from the surface?"

The dark-skinned Vulcan queried his monitors and replied, 
"Yes, Captain.  I'm reading humanoid inhabitants.  According 
to scans they do possess post-warp technologies."

"Hallelujah!" cried Paris from the conn.  He more than 
anyone else was ready for some time off - especially if it 
included a certain half-Klingon.  

Chakotay's lips twitched at the sound.  "Open hailing 
frequencies. Let's see if they're in the mood for some 
guests."

A series of muted beeps followed mere seconds later and 
Janeway waited a moment for the image to appear on screen.  
"This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship 
Voyager."

"Good day to you, Captain," answered a diminutive man of 
undeterminable age.  "I am Janell, First Prefect of the 
Kalattii System.  We welcome you to our home."

"Janell," the captain greeted with a slight incline of her 
head.  "My crew is in need of some shore leave.  Would you 
allow us to visit your world for a few days?"

The purple man smiled openly.  "Captain, you do us the 
greatest honor.  You are most certainly welcome."  He made a 
slight bowing motion and gestured to a rather large pink 
woman who stood behind him.  "This is Adira, my consort.  
She will make all of the necessary arrangements."

The woman echoed her husband's bow and brought her joined 
hands to forehead and then to her lips in acknowledgement of 
his words.  "Captain," she stated in a soft, but melodious 
voice, "you have come at the most pleasant time of our year.  
Our Celebration of Life will begin tomorrow.  You must come 
to the opening feast tonight.  We will be honoring our 
highest citizen."

Janeway smiled in response.  "It is we who are honored, 
Adira, Janell.  I will have one of my officers contact you 
momentarily.  Voyager out."

She turned, her lips softening to a pleased expression.  
"Sounds like we're going to have a great time," she murmured 
to her first officer.  

***

"Oh, come *on*, B'Elanna!" Tom cried, frustration seeping 
into his voice.  "Can't you leave the engine room for a few 
days?"  He stared, blue eyes pleading with her to listen to 
reason.

The chief engineer tossed him a scathing glance before 
picking up a tricorder and tapping out the program to begin 
remodulating the warp core.  "For your information, Helm 
Boy, the warp core isn't going to just fix itself.  I'm 
going to have to use all the free time I can get to make 
numerous repairs and upgrades before we leave orbit."  She 
glanced from the tricorder to the monitor and made a few 
adjustments before turning and heading back to the core.

Tom crossed his arms and stood firm.  He knew she was in 
"engineer" mode, during which it was hard to reason with 
her.  But, dammit, any time they'd had alone during the past 
month had been stolen moments and quick hand grasps as they 
passed in the corridors.  And, frankly, he was getting tired 
of it.  He dropped his arms as he watched her discuss 
something with Joe Carey.  

Paris' brow furrowed as he studied his lover in action.  
'Well,' he decided silently, 'if she won't listen to me, 
I'll just have to call on the persuasive skills of a higher 
power.'  With an impudent smile, he tapped his comm badge 
and stated in a voice that carried through the room, "Paris 
to Janeway."

"Go ahead, Mr. Paris," she answered briskly.

Tom watched as B'Elanna's shoulders tensed.  She knew what 
he was doing.  She turned back to him, shoving the tricorder 
into Carey's open hands, and advanced slowly on her lover.  
Their eyes locked, hers full of fire, his full of mischief.

"Captain, did I imagine it or did you state that *all* 
officers were supposed to take a minimum of three days shore 
leave?"

Janeway, hearing the forced innocence in his voice, tried to 
keep the smile out of hers as she replied, "No, Mr. Paris, 
you did not imagine it.  I especially want my senior staff 
well-rested."

"But, Captain!" B'Elanna broke in.  "Voyager can't just grow 
another warp engine -"

Tom could mentally picture the captain's smile 
disintegrating into what everyone on the ship had deemed her 
"don't mess with me" look.  "Ms. Torres, do you have a 
problem with my orders?"

"Yes!" Torres replied heatedly.  

Before she could list all of the reasons, Janeway, much to 
the surprise of the Engineering staff answered, "Tough.  The 
senior officers have been invited for the Kalattii's annual 
feast and celebration at 2100.  You will be there and in 
dress uniform.  Janeway out."

B'Elanna snarled at Tom, "You'll pay for this, Paris."

Tom's smile widened to a full-fledged grin as he answered 
cheerfully, "I certainly hope so!"  Tossing Carey a pleased 
gaze, Paris turned and followed her out of the room.


***

"Hey!" cried Harry Kim as B'Elanna pushed past him, stalking 
toward the turbolift.  Seeing his best friend trailing 
behind her, he asked, "What's with her?"

"Oh, she just got some news she really didn't want to hear," 
Paris replied, looping a brotherly arm around the younger 
man.  "So, Harry, what are you planning on doing first?"

The ensign's eyes lit up.  "Well, I've been doing some 
research on this Celebration of Life.  Did you know that one 
of the festivities includes a glider contest on the planet?"  

Tom shook his head, indicating he hadn't heard of such a 
thing.  "It's the ultimate in extreme sports!" Kim gushed, 
warming to the topic.  "Each contestant is issued a super-
thin environmental suit and what amounts to a twentieth 
century hang-glider.  You're taken into the atmosphere by a 
shuttlecraft and then deposited into the whirlwinds.  The 
first person to complete 5 revolutions wins."

"That's great, Harry, but how do you get out?" Tom cast a 
slightly worried glance at his friend as they rounded the 
corridor and entered the turbolift.

Kim glanced sheepishly away, "Um.  I haven't figured that 
part out yet."

***

2/12

Brightly airy music greeted the senior staff as they beamed 
to the surface, promptly at 2100 hours.  Torres tugged a 
little at the collar of her dress uniform, shooting Paris a 
disgusted look as he tried to hide a smile at her 
discomfiture.  He sidled over to her and whispered, "Relax, 
'Lanna.  The warp engines will be there when you get back."  
His normally cocky grin softened to a comforting smile as he 
unobtrusively traced a finger down the back of her hand.  
"Besides you can't blame me for wanting us to spend some 
time together."

She glanced down, her bobbed hair hiding the twitch of her 
own lips.  "No," she murmured, looking back up at him, "I 
can't.  And though I'll deny it under oath, thanks."

Tom linked their hands together and squeezed lightly then 
returned his to their customary position.  If any of the 
other members of the senior staff noticed, none objected.  
Moments later, the crew was greeted personally by Janell and 
Adira. 

"Ah, Captain," cooed the man, whose purple skin was 
strikingly offset by his black tunic.  His wife was 
similarly attired, but she had chosen a light aqua color 
instead.  "We are so pleased that you have arrived.  And 
just in time, for we are about to announce our guest of 
honor, The Most Revered."  He gestured to a nearby 
conglomeration of cushions and stated, "Your places will be 
here; to the left of The Most Revered."

Janeway smiled warmly and took her place while the others 
selected their own pillows.  She turned to Chakotay and 
watched him situate himself on a pair of cushions.  "I asked 
Adira for some history about the Celebration of Life," 
Janeway murmured, her eyes lighting up with the thrill of 
new knowledge.  

Chakotay smiled at her eagerness.  "I would think it would 
have something to do with the harvest season."

"In all actuality, no," she replied, "it doesn't.  About 
four hundred years ago, the Kalattii were slaves to a 
powerful race known as the Triors.  When the Kalattii staged 
an uprising against their masters, they lost thousands of 
people, approximately 2/3 of their total population.  They 
celebrate their success in defeating the Triors by honoring 
those who survived.  Hence, the Celebration of Life."

"That's fascinating," the commander agreed.  "Were you able 
to get any information about The Most Revered?"

Janeway shook her head, "Nothing much.  The only thing I was 
able to learn was that he somehow defeated a fleet of the 
enemy's ships single-handedly a few years ago."

A trillion trumpet-like instruments forestalled any further 
conversation between the two and Janell humbly climbed a 
smallish dais at the front of the room.  "Honored guests, we 
welcome the crew of Voyager and encourage that all 
hospitality be shown to them.  They have traveled far and 
welcome a respite on our beautiful moon."  

Janell bowed slightly and others of varying colors turned 
and offered their own deferential posturing.  Just as the 
purple Kalattii raised his hand to command the crowd's 
attention, Torres felt the hairs stand up on the back of her 
neck.  

"Honored guests, it is my privilege to present our *most* 
honored guest, The Most Revered," Janell stated warmly as he 
moved to one side of the dais and a human man stepped up to 
the platform.

Tom watched a myriad of emotions flash across B'Elanna's 
face in the seconds it took for recognition to dawn.  She 
knew him.  There was no doubt about that.  When Paris heard 
her growl, "You, p'tahk!" with a mixture of surprise and 
anger, he felt the ground drop out from under him.

The look on Chakotay's face confirmed Paris' supposition.  
Whatever the identity of The Most Revered, he and B'Elanna 
had unfinished business.

***

3/12

Some hours later, after the ceremony's conclusion, Janeway 
held court in Voyager's conference room.  Seated around the 
table were her senior officers, Janell, and The Most 
Revered, whose identity had been revealed to be Garrick 
Warwich, a former member of the Maquis.

"Mr. Warwich," Janeway began with a slight incline of her 
head.  "You seemed to have lucked out when it comes to final 
destinations in the Delta Quadrant."

Garrick smiled and nodded his head ruefully.  "Its true, the 
Kalattii have been most kind to me."

"It was only reasonable," Janell interjected.  "The Most 
Revered saved our moon and everyone who lives here."

"Oh?" queried Chakotay from his seat to the left of the 
captain.  "How so?"

Janell straightened in the chair, his eyes sparkling with 
the opportunity to share the story which had become a legend 
among his people.  "As you know, the Kalattii were once 
slaves of the Triors.  Centuries back, our ancestors drove 
them out, but five years ago, they returned, eager to 
restake their claim on our society and send us back into the 
Trosian fields."  

The purple-colored man paused, his normally dulcet voice 
deepening as he continued to weave the story.  "We were 
doomed.  With no weapons of any account that would battle a 
fleet of starships, we prepared to hide underground."  He 
glanced around the table, including everyone in the tale.  
"Unfortunately, only a few miles of caves had been dug - 
certainly not enough space for hundreds of people. "

Janell looked to Garrick, respectful awe filling his gaze.  
"At the height of the attack, when the Triors had destroyed 
almost every city, The Most Revered appeared in our space.  
It was Providence itself.  He annihilated our enemies and 
saved our world."

Janeway smiled warmly at the Kalattiian as the senior 
officers absorbed the story.

"You still haven't told us how you ended up here," B'Elanna 
remarked from her seat across the table from Garrick.  Paris 
was equally eager to hear more about this mystery man who 
obviously held some key to his lover's past. The lieutenant 
snuck a glance at Torres trying to gauge her emotional 
investment in the other man's answer.  

Garrick smiled wryly.  "You remember that scouting trip 
Merale Turvis sent me on?"

"You were tracking the Cardassians' movements along the 
Dozaria system, right?" Chakotay asked glancing from the 
chief engineer to Warwich.

Nodding, Warwich answered, "I was almost spotted a few times 
so I decided to hide out in the Badlands and wait them out.  
While I was there, some sort of coherent tetryon beam 
snagged me and tossed me here."

B'Elanna shook her head, confused by the time frame he had 
outlined.  "Garrick, Voyager and The Liberty were sent 
70,000 light years away from the Alpha Quadrant.  Why 
weren't you sent that far as well if we were hit by the same 
type of beam?"

He shook his head equally puzzled by the situation. 

"Captain, if I may," Tuvok interjected, "his ship, being a 
small scout ship, didn’t have as much mass as Voyager and 
the Liberty combined, so the inertia was less.  That could 
account for the differences in the distance traveled by both 
sets of ships."

Janeway nodded and briskly answered, "Agreed."  She turned 
to Garrick and invited, "Mr. Warwich, you are most welcome 
to stay on Voyager for the duration of our shore leave."

Warwich glanced uncertainly between the captain and her 
chief engineer.  "Captain," he began, choosing his words 
carefully.  "I believe the Triors were merely driven back - 
not defeated completely."  He glanced to Janell, who nodded 
eagerly, knowing what The Most Revered would request.  "I 
have been working with the Kalattii to build a fleet of 
ships to protect them.  However, the process is slow.  They 
don't have the technical expertise.  If I could, I would 
like to invite B'Elanna to consult on the schematics."

Torres blinked, startled by the proposal.  Paris, on the 
other hand, felt the slow burn, that had begun in his 
stomach upon Garrick's introduction flare.  He was about to 
object, though it would have been based on personal reasons 
which were not something Janeway valued highly, when 
B'Elanna answered.  

"Captain, I would like to help.  Garrick and I have worked 
together before and I'm certain we could create a force to 
protect these people."

Shocked, Tom swallowed his objection in favor of breathing.  
Though he hadn't expected her to refuse, he certainly 
wouldn’t have guessed she would jump at the chance.  'Well,' 
he thought with resignation, 'maybe this will give her a 
chance make a little more peace with her past.'  Although, 
he had the distinct feeling that more than peace would be 
made over the next few days.

The captain glanced appraisingly at Paris then shifted her 
gaze to the woman sitting on his left.  Knowing full well 
that there was a better than even chance this would turn out 
badly for someone, she was unsure just who that someone 
would be.  Making a command decision, she nodded, mentally 
preparing herself for the fallout to come.


***

"So, I'll meet you for lunch 1300?" Tom asked his lover as 
the meeting concluded.  He feigned indifference and tried 
not to notice the close proximity Garrick maintained to 
B'Elanna.

The chief engineer glanced uncertainly from Paris to 
Warwich.  "Well, um," she began.  "Garrick and I have 
decided to grab something to eat now and start mapping out 
the schematics."

Tom nodding, hiding his disappointment behind his usual 
cocky mask.  "Alright, then.  Have fun!"  Torres watched as 
he glanced at the former Maquis and felt something pass 
between the two men, but for the life of her, she couldn't 
figure out what.  Dismissing it as some sort of alpha male 
behavior, she shook her head and turned, gesturing for 
Garrick to follow her.

As Tom headed for the Bridge, he surreptitiously watched 
B'Elanna and Garrick walk to the turbolift.  'Maybe this 
what we need.  After all, this…relationship…is still pretty 
new.  Maybe this will help her figure out if a future 
together is what she truly wants,' Paris tried to convince 
himself, giving the pair one last look before the doors 
closed.  'Just, *please* don't do anything rash, 'Lanna,' he 
inwardly prayed.  As he settled at the conn, his imagination 
rapidly generated several possible futures for them, the 
most frightening being that she chose Warwich over himself.  
Try as he might, the mental image of a life without B'Elanna 
would not let go.  Tom smothered a grimace.  It was going to 
be a long shift.

***

"B'Elanna," Garrick began as they sat down at a table in the 
corner of the mess hall.  "I didn't tell Janeway the whole 
truth in the conference room.  I want you to stay.  Here on 
the Kalattii moon."

Surprised by his request, Torres shook her head.  "Garrick, 
I -"  

"What kind of life do you have on Voyager?"  She opened her 
mouth to reply, but he forestalled her, raising a hand.  
"Exciting, I'm sure.  There's nothing like exploring an 
uncharted quadrant.  But does it satisfy you?  Do you go 
back to your quarters at night and relish the start of your 
next shift?  Or do you pray that nothing will break down and 
force you from your bed at an ungodly hour?"

B'Elanna winced at how easily he had read her mind.  Just 
last week, she had berated Carey openly after he had 
interrupted her first holodeck time with Tom in a month.  
Another warp coil had blown out and, of course, her presence 
was required for the new installation.  Three hours and one 
spent fuse later, she had stalked out of Engineering 
demanding that for just one night no one call her with some 
sort of disaster.  She knew that Carey had worked with her 
long enough to recognize her ire for what it was—simple 
frustration for the elementary task—but she had said it 
nonetheless.  

"You forget, B'Elanna," Garrick murmured as he reached 
across the table to caress her cheek.  "I know you.  We are 
cut from the same cloth."  He smiled wryly, "We're 
renegades."

She closed her eyes, wrestling with the conflicting emotions 
that warred within her.  'Am I that different of a person 
now?' Torres questioned, searching her heart for an answer.

He watched her carefully, shaking his head at the indecision 
that crossed her face. "What happened to you, B'Elanna?" 
Garrick asked, his brow furrowing with concern.  "Where's 
the fire that used to fill your eyes?  Is the girl I used to 
know still there, buried under that Starfleet uniform?"

"Garrick," she began, still trying to find the words to 
convince him that she was the person he knew.  That nothing 
would change her, even though she had the strangest feeling 
that that wasn't really true.  She had changed.  Had lost 
something of her former self as the years passed.  And now, 
she began to wonder if she missed her.

He shook his head and then glanced around them.  "She's 
disappeared in this world.  Her passion and fire dimmed by 
Starfleet regulations."  Taking her hand, he urged softly, 
"Come back to me.  We'll find her, together."

B'Elanna's eyes drifted shut as the memories of his touch 
washed over her.  'How long has it been?' she questioned 
silently.  'How long since I last felt his breath on my 
cheek?'

"You and I are destined for each other. We knew it back then 
and, deep down, you know it even now. Our meeting again just 
reinforces it."  He took her other hand in his and a shudder 
of memory tremored through her.  

'How can he still have this effect on me when I had given 
him up for dead years ago?'  _You never truly gave him up,_ 
piped in her conscience.  _Did you ever once say good-bye 
when his ship disappeared?_  'No,' she replied with a mental 
shake of her head.  'I dove right in on the Liberty's warp 
core and did a massive overhaul rather than think about it.'

She looked up guiltily and into Garrick's sympathetic 
features.  "Here it will be different.  B'Elanna, I am 
offering you the chance to build a fleet of starships from 
the ground up.  You will be in total control of the 
schematics."  Sensing her reluctance weakening, he sweetened 
the deal.  "And I can guarantee you the best equipment in 
the quadrant.  No bargaining or trading necessary."  He 
paused for a moment and glanced around the room, then looked 
back at her with a secretive smile.  "Would you like to see 
one of the prototypes?"

B'Elanna's eyes widened with curiosity.  "Do you even have 
to ask?"

Garrick smiled knowing his fish had been caught.  "Then 
let's get out of here."

***

4/12

They had beamed to the surface a few feet from a large 
oblong formation.  The mountains in the distance served as 
an exquisite backdrop to the black and red building.  
B'Elanna commented on it and Warwich nodded.  "It is a 
beautiful world.  It would be terrible to see such 
devastating destruction again."  As they neared the doors to 
the building, two guards snapped to attention.  "Gentlemen," 
Garrick soothed, "I bring a friend.  She is an engineer of 
much respect on her ship.  She will be consulting on the 
fleet."

The guards relaxed at the information and one nodded and 
opened the door.  Garrick gestured for B'Elanna to precede 
him.  As she entered the building, she felt a cool flash of 
air pass over her.  Her companion smiled and replied, 
"Decontamination program."

She nodded and peered into the semi-darkness.  A soft glow 
from above barely illuminated the room.  But it was just 
enough to showcase Warwich's pride and joy.  "''The 
Champion','" he murmured into her ear.  

The warmth of his breath tickled and tantalized her senses, 
continuing to bring back memories of their nights together.  
B'Elanna forced her thoughts away from that dangerous 
subject and willed herself to pay more attention to the ship 
than to its creator.

Though it was obviously a scout ship, the body was oblong 
with clean lines sloping back to the engines.  Its smallish 
size was offset by the strength conveyed in the shape of the 
hull.  

"She's capable of warp 7 - not much, I know, by Starfleet 
standards, but as I said, the Kalattii aren't the most 
technically sophisticated race in the quadrant."

B'Elanna shook her head and answered, "No, Garrick, it's 
perfect.  Light and fast.  Able to make quick strikes."  She 
glanced back at him, her eyebrows raised questioningly, "I 
assume it has a full armament of photon torpedoes and 
phasers."

Garrick smiled with delight.  "But, of course!" he replied, 
eyes full of mirth.  "Only the best for the Triors."  He 
placed a hand at her elbow and once again B'Elanna was 
struck by how much she had forgotten about him.  No matter 
what, he always had the manners of a gentleman.  _Unlike 
someone else you know,_ her conscience interjected evilly.  
'That's not fair!' she chastised inwardly.  'Tom is…."  But 
that was the problem: while she was with Garrick, she didn't 
know what Tom was.

"B'Elanna?" her companion asked with slight concern.

She jerked her head at the sound and offered him a sheepish 
smile. "Sorry, just woolgathering."

His brow furrowed then relaxed a moment later.  "Would you 
like to go back?"

Shaking her head, Torres replied, "Not right now.  Let's 
check out the inside."  He smiled and led her to the ship.

***

Several hours and gallons of engine grease later, B'Elanna 
beamed back to Voyager.  Although ''The Champion'' was 
architecturally well crafted, there was quite a bit of fine-
tuning that had to occur before she was ready for testing.  
Exhausted, but invigorated by the prospect of creating her 
own fleet, she headed for the Mess Hall, hoping for a chance 
to run some of her ideas by Chakotay.  As yet another person 
who had had to learn to deal with second-hand technology, 
she hoped to get some feedback on her plans.

Grabbing a plate of whatever Nelix was serving that day, she 
glanced around the room and found the object of her search 
sitting alone with several data padds scattered around the 
table.  "Chakotay," she greeted, her eyes lighting up with 
excitement.  "Mind if I join you?  I've got some things I'd 
like to run by you, if you've got a moment."

The commander smiled softly and nodded with characteristic 
calm.  "Have a seat.  I was just going over the duty rosters 
anyway.  The shore leave has a lot of people swapping shifts 
and I have to make sure everything is covered."

B'Elanna nodded distractedly.  Taking a bite of the green 
conglomeration on her plate, she ignored the stinging 
sensation at the back of her throat as she swallowed, 
allowing instead her engineer's mind to focus on her 
project.  "Back on The Liberty, when you had that warp coil 
blow out - that I had to fix a couple of months later when I 
came on board - how did you patch the systems to maintain 
some sort of functionality?"

Chakotay pursed his lips, curious as to where she was headed 
with this conversation.  "I assume this is about Garrick and 
the fleet of ships he intends to build?"

She shook her head and answered, "Not *he,* Chakotay, *I.*"  

The commander's eyes widened at the implication of her 
words.  "B'Elanna, building a fleet big enough to counter 
the Triors will take months, if not years.  I hope you know 
that Voyager isn't planning on taking shore leave for that 
long."

Torres nodded slowly, the steadiness of her gaze confirming 
his words. "I know."  

"Are you thinking about resigning your commission and 
leaving Voyager?" he asked, tamping down on the concern that 
was rapidly growing to panic.  He knew she had been spending 
a great deal of time with the former Maquis, but for her to 
be questioning her life on Voyager…

Before he could utter another word, a shadow fell over the 
table.  "Mind if I join you?" Tom Paris asked brightly, 
ignoring the tension that hung between the commander and the 
lieutenant.  

Torres glanced up at him, her eyes hardening.  "It's 
personal, Paris.  Why don't you keep Harry company for a 
while?  We're busy here."

Chakotay glanced up at the pilot and read the hurt in his 
eyes seconds before his usual cocky mask slipped into place.  
Paris cracked a grin that didn't reach his eyes and 
answered, "Well, then, don't have to tell me twice.  I can 
tell when three's a crowd."  He sauntered over to Harry's 
table and the harshness in Torres' eyes dimmed somewhat.

"B'Elanna, what was that all about?" the commander asked, 
leaning forward to capture her gaze.

She shook her head.  "It's nothing.  He wouldn't understand.  
That's all.  He's just a flyboy anyway."  Shaking off the 
sudden daze she felt, B'Elanna launched into a brainstorm 
about how to get the maximum efficiency out of engines that 
were only designed for warp 7.

As she continued, Chakotay watched the woman he had come to 
know as B'Elanna Torres, chief engineer, revert back into 
B'Elanna Torres, Maquis soldier.  It was a sight he was not 
happy to see.

***

5/12

The door to Chakotay's office chimed and inwardly the first 
officer sighed.  He had a good idea as to the identification 
of the person on the other side and wasn't looking forward 
to the conversation ahead.  Straightening in his chair, he 
called, "Enter!" and readied himself for what was certain to 
be an interesting discussion.

Tom paused a moment before entering and asked, "You got a 
minute, Chakotay?"

The Indian nodded and gestured for Paris to take a seat.  
Licking his lips, the young man sat down only to jump up a 
moment later and begin pacing the confines of the room.  
"How well do you know this Warwich guy?" Paris asked without 
preamble.  

Surprised by the pilot's unexpected forthrightness, Chakotay 
pursed his lips and steepled his fingers in front of him. "I 
knew him.  Not well, but most people in the Maquis had 
something to hide so it wasn't a rare occurrence that you 
really didn't know your companions well."

Tom paused mid-prowl and asked over his shoulder, "Who is he 
to B'Elanna?"

"I think that's something that's better discussed with 
B'Elanna herself," he replied sagely, trying like mad to 
figure a way out of this conversation without the younger 
man losing his temper and doing something he would later 
regret.

Paris let out a cynical bark of laughter. "I would if I 
could, but she's down on the surface going over who-knows-
what with him.  So you're my next best thing."  Tom turned 
back to the commander and placed his hands on the desk, 
leaning down into the older man's face.  "Tell me, 
Chakotay," he bit out gravelly.  "Were they lovers?"

Chakotay, knowing he would not get out of this situation 
without at least giving Paris some information, took in a 
short breath.  "Yes, Tom.  They were lovers.  They met a few 
months prior to his disappearance in the Badlands.  The 
Liberty was, among other things, sent out there to look for 
him." 

Tom's brow furrowed as he processed the information and 
compared it with what he knew about his lover.  "But, I 
thought she hadn't loved anyone since that guy, Pedro."

The first officer offered him a grim smile.  "I didn't say 
anything about love, Mr. Paris."

"So it was only physical?" the pilot asked, a gleam of 
something dangerous forming in his eyes.

Chakotay shook his head.  "This is definitely something 
better discussed with B'Elanna."

A scowl stole over the features of Tom Paris, and in the 
instant that he walked out of his office, Chakotay did not 
envy the chief engineer one bit.

***

"Just when were you going to tell me about him, B'Elanna?" 
Tom barked as he stalked passed her into her quarters.  "My 
God, I had to go to Chakotay to find out Garrick was your 
lover!"

Torres, having just returned from the surface, scowled at 
his invasion but let it pass in favor of avoiding the 
curious stares of passing crew members.  She followed him in 
and sighed thankfully as the doors softly whished shut.  
"Tom, he was dead to me."

He swung around and pierced her with a sharp gaze.  Shaking 
his head, he replied, "Last time I looked he was very much 
alive to me."

B'Elanna, incensed by his anger shot back, "You haven't 
exactly been very forthright about what happened on Caldik 
Prime.  Who was *she* to you?"

Paris set his jaw, then growled, "I'm not the one whose past 
suddenly appeared out of nowhere, 'Lanna."

Shaking her head at his incomprehensible audacity, B'Elanna 
retorted, "You have no demand on me.  I don't have to tell 
you anything!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he responded sharply, "we've been lovers 
now for what…six months?  You've admitted that you love me 
and vice versa.  Pardon me for my curiosity, but what other 
qualifications are needed to have some sort of *demand* on 
you?"

Torres hurled the tricorder she had forgotten she had been 
carrying in Tom's general direction.  "How *dare* you throw 
that back in my face!"

"Why not?" he shot back, ignoring the now dead tricorder 
which lay mere inches from his feet.  He crossed his arms in 
front of him and surveyed her closely.  "Isn't it true?"

B'Elanna opened her mouth to contradict him, but, to her 
dismay, no sound emerged. 

Tom lowered his arms and took a step toward her.  His voice 
soft and gaze determined, he dared, "Tell me you don't love 
me."  He paused and closed the gap between them, taking her 
face in his hands so she was forced to meet his gaze.  "Tell 
me that you've forgotten the day you claimed me as your 
mate."  

He smiled softly in remembrance.  "I haven't.  Even though 
the scar has faded, the memory is still there.  Tell me 
you've forgotten what you said when we were near death and 
lost in the middle of space."  Tom's thumbs absently began 
caressing her face, as his eyes were lost in the memory.  "I 
was an idiot then, 'Lanna, to not tell you how much I love 
you.  But you do know that.  Now."

She closed her eyes, lulled by the soothing tone of his 
voice, the warmth of his hands, his breath on her cheek.  
Suddenly the warmth was replaced by the softness of his 
lips.  The emotions she had been fighting bubbled to the 
surface and she responded with a wanton eagerness.  It had 
been so long since they had last made love.  

Abandoning her lips, he trailed a soft row of kisses along 
her brow ridges as he breathed in the essence of the woman 
he would die for.  B'Elanna's breath caught at his 
tenderness, savoring the feel of his lips on her.  

Tom, lost in the sensation of holding her again and unaware 
of the meaning behind his words, then murmured the 
unforgivable.  "Tell me he never made you feel this way." 

She started as the request pierced the haze of arousal that 
surrounded her.  Brow furrowing in shocked disbelief, 
B'Elanna jerked away from him and spat, "Tell you *what*?"

Paris, startled by her sudden retreat, blinked and mentally 
replayed his last words.  'Dammit, Paris,' he thought to 
himself.  'Why don't you just piss her off?'  Aloud, he 
tried to undo the damage, "B'Elanna -"

Torres slowly advanced on him, her dark eyes blazing.  "You 
want me to compare your techniques?  Is that it?  Who got 
B'Elanna off the best?"

"He waltzes back into your life and you willingly trail 
after him like a dog in heat!  Why *wouldn't* I want to know 
what he's got that all of a sudden I don't?" Paris shot back 
at her, his chest heaving with emotion.

Torres shot him a disgusted look. "Humans!" she spat, 
turning away from him once more to pace back to the window.  
"Always wanting to know every lurid detail.  You want to 
know?  Fine!  Then get ready for the ride of your life 
because that's what he was to me!"

Her brown eyes gleamed ferally and Tom began to wonder just 
how much he really *did* want to know about her past 
relationship.  With a slight nod, she turned, rubbing her 
hands up and down her arms, remembering the feel of the 
hands she had thought long dead.  "Chakotay was right.  
Garrick and I were lovers," she bit out, her words almost as 
bruising as her tone.  She stopped a few feet from the 
window and gazed out at the stars.  "I'll never forget the 
day we met."  Her voice took on a dreamy tone and Paris 
winced at the sudden change.

"The attraction was instantaneous.  We shook hands and, I 
swear, I saw a current of electricity snap between us."  She 
turned back to Tom, but her eyes were glazed as she relived 
her memories.  "That night…was incredible.  I'd never felt 
like that before.  It was raw.  It was animalistic.  It was 
as if he knew every little part of me and satisfied it 
beyond comprehension."

Paris pursed his lips, deciding that, if he didn't want to 
hear a blow by blow account of their lovemaking, now was an 
opportune time to interrupt.  "So you had great sex," he 
commented.  He watched as her eyes cleared and focused in on 
him.  "But what did he do to your heart?"

B'Elanna stared at him.

Slowly, he walked closer and, though he dared not touch her 
knowing he would just pique her Klingon side, he lifted his 
hand and caressed the air around her face.  "When you held 
his hand, beneath the passion, did you feel something else?  
Did you feel what I feel when *I* hold your hand?"  His eyes 
pleaded with her, begging that she tell him what he 
desperately needed to hear.

"Did you feel the sweet joy of love singing in your blood?  
Did you for once feel that you would happily sacrifice 
yourself so that he could live?  Did the piece of him that 
you held in your heart ache every moment you were separated?  
How does what you felt for him compare to what you feel for 
me?"  Tom watched with a sinking feeling that right now she 
truly didn't have an answer.  

As the silence grew, he steeled himself against the sudden 
stab of pain that accompanied that knowledge and murmured, 
"You don't have to have an answer for me, but 'Lanna, at 
some point you *will* have to have one for yourself."  
Without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

***

6/12

Having escaped the suddenly close confines of her quarters, 
Tom leaned against the bulkhead next to her door and closed 
his eyes, willing the pain that now overwhelmed him to ease.  
'Maybe she never really did love me.  Maybe she said it 
because she thought we were dying and when we didn't, she 
regrets it.'  

Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, Paris forced 
himself to walk down the hall, past the curious stares of 
his crewmates, and into the turbolift.  He swore he would 
not lose it in front of God and everyone.  There was already 
enough gossip on the ship about the newly-discovered love 
triangle.  With a sigh of relief, the lift doors opened and 
revealed he had lucked out.  He wouldn't have to share a 
ride.  He swallowed convulsively and ordered, "Deck four."  
At this time of night Sandrine's would most likely be empty 
- those working Alpha shift having gone to bed hours ago and 
the Beta/Gamma workers were either still on duty or reveling 
in the sorely needed shore leave.

As he walked into the holodeck, Tom found that his luck 
still held.  Only a handful of holodeck characters were 
present and no one from Voyager itself.  He ordered a scotch 
on the rocks with more scotch than rocks, then sat down 
heavily at a table in the corner.  Tom nursed the drink, 
silently replaying the fight with B'Elanna and chastising 
himself for bringing up the topic.  So immersed was he in 
his thoughts, he didn't notice that he was no longer alone.

"May I join you, Mr. Paris?" asked a familiar voice.

Without waiting for a response from her pilot, Janeway 
pulled out a chair and gestured to Sandrine for two more of 
whatever Tom was drinking.  The French woman smiled with 
understanding and readied the drinks.

Janeway allowed the silence at the table to grow; she could 
feel the young man's pain radiating off of him and for a 
moment she was unsure if this really was a good idea.  
However, based on her conversation with Chakotay, it seemed 
like the fallout was already starting.  The captain nodded 
her thanks to the bar's owner as she quietly deposited the 
drinks and returned to the back room.

Blanching as she took a sip of what turned out to be a very 
strong scotch, Janeway pursed her lips and decided the best 
approach would be a direct one.  She folded her hands in 
front of her and stared at the slumped figure of Tom Paris.  
His hair was askew as if he had run his hands through it one 
too many times and when he absently looked up at her, she 
could read the pain in his eyes.

"How much do you love her, Tom?" Kathryn asked, her voice 
low, but strong.

Paris looked curiously at her, his features scrunched into a 
quizzical mask.  "I'm sorry.  Captain?"

Sighing, she offered him an understanding smile.  "Do you 
love her enough to let her make her own choices?"

Tom closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands.  "I 
don't know, Captain.  I just don't know."  He bit his lower 
lip then shook his head.  "Last week…hell, yesterday, I 
could have told you anything you wanted to know about me and 
B'Elanna.  But now?"  He shrugged helplessly.  "It's like 
she's changed over night.  She's not the B'Elanna Torres I 
fell in love with.  Every moment she spends with Warwich, 
she changes just a little more - she's harder, more 
headstrong...and when I look in her eyes, there's only a 
glimmer of something I recognize…"

Janeway took another sip of her drink and laid a supportive 
hand on Paris' forearm.  "I know its hard, Tom.  Watching 
someone you love confront her past…"

"But that's just it, Captain.  I'm *glad* she's getting a 
chance to close some old doors completely.   I'm just scared 
she's going to lose who she's become in the process."  He 
offered her a sorrowful smile.  "And when it's all over, 
she'll realize she never loved me in the first place."

Janeway's eyebrows crawled up her forehead.  "Now, I don't 
believe that for a minute, Tom Paris," she chastised 
forcefully.  "You can't fake the way she looks at you when 
she thinks no one is watching.  Nor the concern she has for 
you when you're injured or missing."

Paris shrugged half-heartedly in response and the captain 
added, "But, neither can you tell a stubborn half-Klingon 
what's best for her life."  She smiled encouragingly at him.  
"So I'll ask again.  Do you love her enough to let her make 
own decisions?  And trust that she'll choose correctly in 
the end?"

After a moment, Tom nodded.  And he did.  God help him, but 
he did.  'Please, 'Lanna, don't let me down now,' he 
silently prayed.   

***

7/12

"B'Elanna!" Garrick greeted warmly as he met her in the 
development building.  Placing his hands on her shoulders he 
pulled her into a slight hug and pressed his lips to her 
temple.  "You are an absolute genius!" he praised, the 
corners of his mouth lifting with pride.

Confused, Torres looked up into his features, ignoring how 
good it felt to be in his arms again.  "What happened?"

Garrick turned her in his embrace, throwing an arm casually 
around her shoulders, and walked toward the scout ship.  
"The modifications you developed will increase the warp 
capacity to warp 8.3!  It could make all the difference in a 
fight."

The engineer glanced up at him with a saucy grin.  "You 
didn't think I had it in me, did you?"

"I had absolutely no doubts in your abilities, B'Elanna," he 
rejoined.  "I was merely surprised at how quickly the 
updates were completed."

"Well, Voyager hasn't exactly been a leisure cruise.  
Whenever something breaks down, the captain usually wants it 
fixed yesterday."  She smiled again, her mind drifting back 
to her early days on the ship.  "It's been good for me…"

Garrick looked down at her quizzically, slowly their 
meandering pace to a full stop.   "Why do I sense a 'but' in 
there?"

B'Elanna shook her head, glancing away.  "Probably because 
there is," she replied with a frustrated sigh.  

Sensing she was reluctant to talk about something that was 
obviously bothering her, he squeezed her shoulders once then 
changed the subject, hoping to steer her back to the topic 
in a round-about way.  "Do you remember the time when you 
beamed me out of that Cardassian brig at warp speed?"

Torres smiled with satisfaction as they resumed their walk 
toward 'The Champion'.  "It was pretty amazing, wasn't it?"

"How many times do you get a chance to do something like 
that on Voyager?  The look on your face when I 
rematerialized was absolutely breathtaking."

"Once," she replied, sobering as she recalled the 
circumstances behind Chakotay's rescue from Seska.  "I've 
had the opportunity once since I've been here."

"Opportunity?" Garrick questioned.  "You mean you could have 
made history again?  Or, did something bad happen?"

B'Elanna shook her head.  "No, Janeway wouldn't allow me to 
do it.  She decided a transport at warp speed was too 
'risky.'"

"Ah, but what is life without a few risks?  I seem to recall 
several times when we escaped the Cardassian raiders by the 
skin of our teeth." Garrick smiled, remnants of the former 
adrenaline rushing through his blood.  "How amazing that 
was.  Made you feel alive!"  

He turned to her and took her hand in his.  "We can have 
that again, B'Elanna.  We *will* have that again if you 
stay.  We have a battle to fight.  A people to stand up for.  
Just like we did in the Badlands."

Warwich laced their fingers together and gazed at her 
intently.  "B'Elanna, you have a duty as a fellow member of 
the Maquis.  These people are in trouble.  It was only just 
by chance that I was able to drive the invaders out when I 
first arrived.  I promise you they will come back, and with 
reinforcements."

She sighed and closed her eyes.  B'Elanna knew on some level 
that he would play this card and, as much as she'd like to, 
she couldn't hate him for the emotional blackmail.  
"Garrick, these people you fought, they aren't Cardassians.  
That is the Maquis enemy."

Warwich's gaze hardened as his memory replayed countless 
attacks replacing the enemy faces with those of Cardassians.  
The tone of his voice chilled as he spat, "An enemy of the 
Maquis is any race who conducts unprovoked raids on a world, 
raping the people and the land with no concern for anyone 
but themselves." 

The harshness in his eyes softened as his gaze refocused on 
her.  Garrick smiled slightly, the warmth that had been lost 
slowly seeping back into his voice.  "B'Elanna, your arrival 
here is Providence itself.  With your engineering skills, 
the fleet would be built in half the time, allowing for more 
training before the war begins."

"Garrick, I have a duty to Starfleet now," she hedged, her 
uncertainty clearly reflected in her voice.

"You have a duty as a member of the Maquis to help me 
protect a world I have come to think of as home," he 
countered ruthlessly.  "We took an oath…for life.  To 
protect those who cannot defend themselves against those who 
would destroy them.  How does this make the Triors any 
different than the Cardassians?" he barked.  

The tone of his voice chilled her blood and B'Elanna fought 
the urge to shrink away from him.  This was not the Garrick 
Warwich she remembered.  He had changed into someone 
more…dangerous.  But wasn’t he merely doing what was 
necessary?  It was a creed she, too, had once adopted as her 
own:  'the end justifies the means.'  But during her time on 
Voyager, she had somehow forgotten.  Forgotten what it meant 
to live one hour - one fight - at a time.  The question was, 
did she want to return to that life?

Garrick, sensing her disconcertion, raised their linked 
hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.  "Don't forget, I 
know who you are.  We're cut from the same cloth.  You may 
wear a Starfleet uniform now, but in your heart, you're 
still a Maquis warrior.  Just like me.  It's not something 
that ever goes away."

Slowly, she unlinked their hands and murmured, "I'll - I'll 
think about it.  That's the best I can do for now." 

Garrick nodded with reluctant acceptance.

As she turned to leave the building, she glanced back and 
felt like she was turning her back on the Maquis life she 
had left behind.  The only world in which she had ever truly 
belonged.


***

As B'Elanna rematerialized in Transporter Room Two, she 
glanced around at the familiar surroundings and suddenly 
felt claustrophobic.  The starkness of the crewman's yellow 
and black uniform stifled the sense of freedom she felt in 
the Kalattii clothing.  She offered a nod to the young man 
and walked through the doors, noting for the first time in a 
while how *gray* everything was.  The walls, the carpet, 
even the ceiling; everything around her was some shade of 
gray.  

It was a far cry from the riotous color that filled the 
buildings on the moon's surface.  B'Elanna inwardly wondered 
how she had lasted so long in Voyager's sterile environment.  
She passed two ensigns in the corridor and winced at their 
stiff postures.  Was this who she had become?  Where was the 
brash young B'Elanna Torres who had killed a squad of 
Cardassians without hesitation?  What had Janeway's 
Starfleet ideals done to her?

She paused for a moment and, hearing Garrick's words echo in 
the back of her head, tapped her comm badge.  "Torres to 
Janeway."

"Janeway here."

"Captain, I need a moment of your time."

On the bridge, Janeway looked over her shoulder to her first 
officer.  She recognized the finality in the younger woman's 
voice.  Chakotay nodded with resignation.  They had both 
realized that this moment would come.  Stifling a sigh, the 
captain replied, "I'll be in my ready room.  We'll talk 
there."

***

Torres walked out of Janeway's ready room about an hour 
later.  The captain was left with bitter disappointment, but 
B'Elanna felt lighter than she had in years.  Now there was 
only one thing left to do:  tell Tom.


***

8/12

Two words shattered every illusion Tom held desperately 
onto.

"I'm leaving," B'Elanna stated as she pulled out a Starfleet 
issued duffel bag and began cleaning out her drawers.  She 
had uttered those damnably painful words quickly hoping to 
end the conversation before it began.  But B'Elanna 
instinctively knew Tom wouldn't leave well enough alone.  
Standing in her sleeping quarters, she watched his reaction 
change from shock to resigned acceptance to outright fury in 
the split second it took for him to walk in the door.  

He closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his hands into 
fists as a cold anger infused him.  His worst nightmare now 
stood right in front of him.  She was doing it.  She was 
turning her back on Voyager, on the captain, and, worst of 
all, on him.  

He stood shaking his head as if he were trying to fully 
comprehend the situation.  "Is life so damned horrible here, 
B'Elanna, that you would throw it all away just to go back 
to being a Maquis?" Paris' voice gained strength as his ire 
built.  "First you tell me he's an old lover and now you're 
changing your *life* for him!  What kind of *hold* does he 
have over you?"

Torres turned back to her packing in an effort to ignore the 
disgust in her lover's eyes.  "You should know by now that 
no man controls me," she spat, "not Garrick, not Chakotay 
and certainly not *you*!"  

"Well, that's painfully obvious, but why the hell do you 
want to go back to living like a Maquis?" Tom slumped back 
against the wall allowing it to support his body now 
boneless with bewilderment.  "Was the life so glamorous and 
the work so wonderful that -" 

"I never *stopped* being a Maquis, Paris!" she screamed 
back, rage flowing through her veins unchecked.  "My true 
self was just *buried*!  Thanks to Janeway and her Starfleet 
rules, to Chakotay for ramming The Liberty and most of all 
to *you*!"

Shocked, Paris shoved himself away from the wall and threw 
his hands in the air. "Me?!  What the hell did *I* have to 
do with it?"

B'Elanna turned back to him, forcefully throwing her indigo 
nightgown into the duffel bag.  "You pumped my head full of 
lies trying to change me into something I'm not!  I'm a 
Maquis, Paris, deal with it!"

Tom shook his head as he watched the fire in her eyes kindle 
into something close to hate.  Puzzled, he asked, "Where is 
this coming from, 'Lanna?  We were happy together…weren't 
we?  Or was that just an illusion as well?"

Torres turned back to the bed unable to face the concern in 
his gaze.  Steeling herself to hammer another nail into the 
coffin containing their relationship, she bit out, "The 
B'Elanna Torres you knew is dead.  If she ever really 
existed."

Tom grabbed her forcefully by the biceps, knowing full well 
that she could wreak a lot of damage on him, but not caring. 
Her words had already done more harm than her hands ever 
would.  "If that's true, then tell me," he commanded, his 
blue gaze piercing her, "once and for all that you never 
loved me.  Tell me, and I'll let you go forever."

Paris stared into her dark, fiery eyes and saw the light ebb 
until nothing remained but flat brown pools.  He swallowed 
the bile of heartbreak that bubbled in the back of his 
throat as he read the answer in her eyes.  No, she didn't 
love him.  With a vicious curse, he jerked away from her and 
stalked out of her quarters.

B'Elanna, suddenly bereft of the warmth in his touch, sank 
to the floor, knees buckling under the weight of pain she 
had just inflicted.  

'You destroyed him,' cried her human half.

'Better that than to let your enemy destroy your true self!' 
barked her Klingon side.

Unable to answer either argument, Torres, wiping the tears 
from her eyes, unclipped the Starfleet comm badge from her 
uniform and cradled it softly in her hands.  "Good-bye," she 
murmured into the dark confines of her cabin.

***

It is a universal truth that people in close confines will 
talk about anything and everything to bring some sense of 
normalcy to extraordinary circumstances.  In such cases as 
these, news travels like wild fire and gossip even faster.  
As Neelix walked down the corridor of deck 9, section 12, he 
couldn't help but cringe at the latest news that spread like 
Corellian fleas.  If true, and based on the source, it most 
certainly was, it was his job as morale officer to do what 
he could.  

He shifted his light burden slightly as he stopped at the 
door to B'Elanna Torres' quarters.  With a sigh, he tapped 
the keypad and listened for the corresponding ping.  An 
exasperated sigh and a "What do you want?" greeted him as 
the door slid open.

Smiling slightly, his eyes drifted from the tear stained 
cheeks to the duffel bag and bat'leth in her hand and 
concluded that the news was sadly true.  B'Elanna watched as 
he tried to form some sort of sentence to cover the awkward 
moment.  Digging to the depths of her Klingon side, she 
pulled up every wall she had ever built to help her through 
the next few moments.  Like it or not, Neelix had become a 
good friend and she knew he would do his best to talk her 
out of leaving.

Shoving past him and into the hallway, she growled, "You're 
wasting your time, Neelix, if you think you'll change my 
mind!"

"Oh!" he cried, hastening his short stride to catch up to 
her longer one.  "I wouldn't dream of it.  I know when to 
let things be.  I just wanted to give you a little snack - 
for the road, so to speak."

"What?  Are you helping me pack?" she muttered under her 
breath before turning on her heel and staring down at the 
shorter man.  "The trip will take 30 seconds at the most.  
I'm only transporting to the surface.  It's not like I 
haven't done this before."

Neelix nodded, sadness softening his features.  "Yes, but…" 
he trailed off, seeing that B'Elanna understood.  With a 
glance around the corridor, he pulled his hands from behind 
his back to reveal a large thermos and a sealed container.  

He smiled uncertainly and offered, "Raktajino, just the way 
you like it. And, a stack of banana pancakes!"

B'Elanna couldn't help but smile at the dear man.  Neelix 
had no equal.  She shifted her duffel bag into the hand that 
held her bat'leth and graciously accepted the containers.  
"Neelix, I -" she began only to see the Talaxian lower his 
eyes and hold up a staying hand.

"No, no," he murmured, quickly clearing his throat.  "If you 
believe that you're making the right decision, then nothing 
more needs to be said."

Torres nodded and replied, "I'll miss you, too, Neelix.  
And…thanks."  She turned on her heel and headed down the 
hallway toward the turbolift never seeing the twin tears 
that trickled down his cheeks.


***

B'Elanna took in a quick breath and closed her eyes tightly 
to smother the tears that threatened to form.  Dammit, she 
hadn't realized that leaving would be this hard.  Running 
the gauntlet of four years of memories and friendships was 
something she knew she would have to do, but she hadn't 
counted on her reactions to it.  'At least the transporter 
room will be safe,' she thought wryly.  The post would more 
than likely be operated by a crewman with whom she only had 
a passing familiarity.  

However, as the doors to Transporter Room One opened, 
B'Elanna realized the last leg of the gauntlet was still 
left to be run:  Harry Kim stood at the controls.

She glanced uncertainly at him and greeted, "Harry."

The ensign watched her closely his dark eyes steady and gaze 
assessing.  "B'Elanna," he returned neutrally.  He lowered 
his gaze to the console for a moment to check the readings.  
"You know this isn't right," he murmured, his voice so soft 
she almost missed the words.

Knowing he meant well, she quelled the knee-jerk reaction to 
bite his head off and sighed.  "It's right for *me*, Harry," 
she replied as she ascended the transporter platform.  She 
turned back to him and offered him a forced smile.  "So 
long, Starfleet."  

Harry nodded, hearing the double entendre clearly.  "Good 
luck, Maquis," he answered offering her an equally forced 
smile.

"Energize."

And she was gone.

***

9/12

Harry stood at the far end of the Sandrine's pool table, cue 
in hand, and watched as Tom set up for the easy win.  It was 
a clear shot into the corner pocket - all the pilot had to 
do was hit the eight ball.  Tom lined up and Kim leaned in 
slightly, bodily urging the ball home.  The stick hit the 
cue ball…and for the third time that night, the eight ball 
went wide.

"Tom," Harry began softly, his voice filled with sympathy.  
"It's been six weeks."

Paris tensed noticeably, knowing full well that the ensign 
wasn't talking about his pool game.  Tom rose from his 
slumped position over the table.  "I told you," he bit out, 
reaching for his glass of scotch.  "I don't want to talk 
about it."  He took a big gulp and, glass in hand, pointed 
to his friend.  "Your shot."

Kim nodded reluctantly and took aim, easily sinking the 
eight ball.  

"Nice shot," the lieutenant acknowledged.  Paris laid his 
cue stick on the table and ambled over to the bar, nodding 
to various crewmen seated at the surrounding tables.  
"Sandrine," he called, his voice slurring slightly.  "I need 
a refill!"

"You know, just because she left doesn't mean your life is 
over," Harry chastised softly as he joined Tom at the bar.  
The ensign tried to grab the newly filled glass but Paris 
blocked his hand and downed the contents in a single 
swallow.  

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Tom began loudly, a slight bite 
hidden in his tone, "haven't you learned by now that women 
are all the same?"  He threw a jovial arm around the younger 
man's shoulders and continued, "Why in the world would I 
think my life is over?"

"Maybe because you were in love with her?" Harry offered 
quietly.

Ignoring his friend's supposition, Paris stated matter-of-
factly, "Much as I hate to admit it, I have been through 
this before.  You get over it and go on to the next one."  
He sat heavily on a barstool and picked at a bowl of 
pretzels that Ayala had asked to be added to the program.  
"Besides, what is love anyway?" the pilot asked 
rhetorically.  "Is it wonderful and exhilarating?  Or is it 
simply giving another person the leverage to rip out your 
heart and hand it to you?"

Harry was grateful that Paris was *finally* opening up about 
what had happened when B'Elanna left, even if it was 
metaphorically.  "I think it has its good and bad parts, but 
if you're lucky, you get more good than bad."

"You really are an innocent, aren't you?" Paris asked, 
shooting Kim an amazed look.  "It's probably a good thing 
that you're trapped out here in the Delta Quadrant, Harry.  
I don't think you'd stand a chance with some of those women 
in the regular ports of call."  He leaned back slightly on 
the barstool but regained his balance quickly before he 
could embarrass himself by falling off.  "Man, I could tell 
you some stories…" 

Kim, realizing the alcohol was beginning to effect more than 
Paris' motor skills, placed a firm hand on the older man's 
shoulder and said, "I think its time to go, Tom - you've had 
enough for one night."

Paris rejected the idea, quickly shrugging Kim's hand away, 
but Harry was adamant.  "Tom, you have the early shift 
tomorrow.  Don't think for one second that Chakotay would 
hesitate to remove you from duty if you're even the 
slightest bit hung over."

Tom's shoulders slumped in defeat.  He needed the shift to 
keep his mind occupied and away from other, more painful, 
subjects.  Just like he sometimes needed the alcohol in the 
off hours.  During the six weeks since B'Elanna had been 
gone, not a night had passed in which Harry hadn't spent 
some amount of time with him.  In fact, Tom was beginning to 
suspect a conspiracy since they had never been assigned duty 
shifts that coincided that often before.  But, when pressed, 
Kim denied it saying that maybe Chakotay had mixed up the 
duty rosters.

They made their way to the door, Kim ignoring the 
sympathetic stares of the crewmembers and Paris continuing 
to boast about his Alpha Quadrant exploits.  As much as he 
tried to hide behind his usual mask, Harry knew that Tom had 
a long way to go before he was truly over B'Elanna.  They 
had just reached the holodeck doors when Janeway's voice 
came over the comm system.  "Senior officers to the Bridge."

'Oh, hell,' Kim thought.

***

The turbolift doors opened, and Paris found himself rapidly 
sobering up as his eyes absorbed the fleet of ships that 
glistened in the viewscreen.  'Oh, hell,' he inwardly echoed 
Harry's earlier thoughts.

"Captain, I certainly hope that's not who I think it is," 
Tom quipped, the biting edge belying his facetiousness.  

Janeway stifled the urge to comfort her pilot, knowing that 
everyone else felt his worries.  "How far away are they, Mr. 
Kim?" she asked, straightening to an almost regal height in 
her chair.

"Roughly three light years, Captain."

Chakotay glanced tensely at Janeway.  "Have they spotted 
us?"

"Sensors would indicate no," Tuvok replied as he adjusted 
the read-outs on his console.  "Should I hail them?"

Kathryn pursed her lips, her mind racing through a multitude 
of scenarios, any one of which could easily occur.  
"Negative," she decided at the last moment.  "I don't want 
to risk upsetting someone with that much fire power at their 
disposal if I don't have to."  She rose and walked toward 
the viewscreen.  "Mr. Paris, lay in a course that will keep 
us as far away from the Triors as possible."   

Surprised by her order, Paris turned from his position at 
conn and protested, "Captain, we have to go back.  They 
can't be anywhere near ready for a fleet this large.  We 
have to help her!"

"It would be imprudent to take on a fleet of this size 
without a substantial amount of reinforcements, Captain," 
Tuvok pointed out in a calm voice.  "Besides, Ms. Torres did 
choose to leave Voyager without any prompting from us.  She 
knew that an attack was highly probable."

"Agreed.  Mr. Paris, plot the course, warp three,"

"But, Captain!"

She offered him a tight smile.  "Just because we're avoiding 
the Triors doesn't mean we won't give B'Elanna a heads-up."

Paris visibly relaxed at her words.  "Course plotted."

"Engage.  Harry, open a subspace channel to the Kalattii 
moon and make sure there's no way the Triors will pick up on 
it."

"Aye, Captain.  Channel open."

Janeway nodded slightly and began, "This is Captain Kathryn 
Janeway of the starship Voyager to the Kalattii moon.  We 
have encountered a fleet of ships we believe to be the 
Triors.  They are heavily armed and are on a direct course 
for your moon."  She paused a moment, carefully weighing her 
options.  She turned to Chakotay, who read the resolve in 
her gaze and silently offered his support.   "We will be 
returning to your space to offer what aid we can in the 
defense of your home.  Janeway out."

The captain looked over her shoulder at Harry.  The ensign 
confirmed the transmission had been received moments later.  
"Mr. Paris?" she asked knowing he had anticipated her 
request.

"Coordinates logged in for the Kalattii moon.  At warp 6 
we'll be able to easily beat the Triors there."

She folded her arms and ordered, "Do it."

Now all they had to do was wait.

***

10/12

The hours it took to reach the Kalattii moon passed like 
years to Voyager's pilot.  Questions raced through his head 
as he considered what would happen once they arrived.  Would 
he see B'Elanna?  Did he even want to, especially if she was 
happy?

Paris balked at that idea.  'All I want is for her to be 
happy even if it means we won't be together,' he thought, 
chasing those questions out of his mind and refocusing on 
the task at hand.  

From her seat in the "big chair," Janeway watched the tense 
line of Tom's shoulders.  For someone who was bound and 
determined that Voyager return, he didn't seem to be too 
happy with her decision now.  Chakotay leaned toward her and 
whispered, "Don't try to read his mind, Kathryn.  He'll be 
alright - whichever way this goes."

Janeway smiled indulgently at her first officer.  "I think 
you've got the market cornered on mind reading," she 
murmured, raising her eyebrows at his innocent expression.  

Any comment he might have made was forestalled by Tuvok's 
announcement that they were approaching the moon.  Without a 
second thought, Janeway's smile disappeared.  She rose and 
ordered, "Open hailing frequencies."

"Captain!" Warwich greeted warmly.  "So good to see you 
again!  Thank you for the warning.  We have scrambled the 
ships and crews and will be ready to launch before the 
Triors arrive."

Tom tuned out the remainder of the conversation and instead 
focused on the helm controls while his peripheral vision 
searched the viewscreen for signs of B'Elanna.  Little did 
he know, she was doing the same on the other side.

Torres sat just out of view range but close enough to see 
the Bridge crew.  She glanced at the Engineering Station and 
was somewhat gratified to see it manned by Joe Carey.  As 
hard as she tried, though, she couldn't keep her eyes from 
straying to the conn.  Finally giving in to the need to see 
him, B'Elanna allowed her eyes to travel over her former 
lover.  She couldn't see him clearly, but what she did see 
gave her pause.  His uniform was neat as was his hair, but 
she could read the haggard lines in his face.  

A pang flashed through her as she realized how much he was 
still hurting over her sudden departure.  In truth, she, 
too, continued to feel a hole in her heart that had once 
been filled by Tom Paris.  Though she had done what she had 
always done in the past and forced herself to ignore it, 
seeing him again brought a fresh wave of pain to the 
surface.  B'Elanna bit her lip and jerked her attention back 
to the captain and Garrick.  

"Well, we haven't constructed as many heavy cruisers as we 
would prefer, but with the scout ships and what few large 
ships we do have, we should be able to adequately defend 
ourselves," Warwich explained.

Janeway nodded.  "We would like to extend an offer of help 
to you and the Kalattii people," she answered.  Although she 
wasn't sure she liked the way Warwich's eyes lit up at her 
statement, she had nonetheless already committed herself and 
the crew and, barring any unforeseen problems, she would 
stand behind her word.

"Captain!  We would be most appreciative of the aid!" the 
former Maquis replied quickly, eager to make use of 
Voyager's firepower.  

"Good.  Now," Kathryn continued, her stance and expression 
noticeably softening, "if I may, how is B'Elanna?"

Garrick pursed his lips, looked back over his shoulder and, 
ignoring her question, interjected, "I will contact you soon 
regarding strategies.  Warwich out."

Brow furrowed at the abrupt end to the conversation, Janeway 
glanced back to Tuvok.  

The Vulcan shook his head and replied, "The connection was 
terminated, but there does not seem to be any undue reason 
for it."

Tom looked up from his control panel to the captain, concern 
easily readable in his eyes.  'We'll find out what's going 
on,' Janeway silently promised him.  

***

Warwich turned away from the console, cursing inwardly.  
'Dammit!  I should've known she would ask about her.'  As he 
walked toward the command station, his eyes caught 
B'Elanna's. 

"Why wouldn't you let me talk to her, Garrick?" Torres 
asked, her confusion evident.

The former Maquis shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "You're 
no longer a member of her crew.  Why should she be concerned 
with you?"

B'Elanna's eyes narrowed as she stalked toward him.  
"They're my *friends,*" she bit out, her hands clenched into 
fists by her sides.  "I left suddenly…the list of reasons 
for her concern could go on and on."

Garrick waved a hand in her general direction.  "So, you'll 
make knew friends.  You'll have tons of them on the moon 
once the war is over.  And, most importantly," he added, 
turning to look at her arrogantly, "you'll have me.  What 
more could a girl want?"

B'Elanna shook her head in disbelief.  Who was this man who 
stood in front of her?  Certainly not the Garrick Warwich 
she had shared a bed with all those years ago.  She looked 
at him as if seeing him for the first time.  "You may think 
you know me, Garrick, but you obviously don't love me."

Warwich looked at her askance.  "What does that have to do 
with anything?  What we're going to accomplish--"

"Means nothing if my heart isn't in it," she interrupted.  
She finally realized the truth that she had shoved away in 
favor of selfish fantasies.  "I left a man who *does* love 
me.  Who wants me for who I am and not just for my 
engineering expertise."

Warwich shook his head with amused tolerance.  "B'Elanna, I 
told you, our relationship will resume.  Just give it time; 
once the battle is over, and I don't have so much weighing 
on my mind -"

"Garrick!" she cried, disgust creeping into her tone.  "I'm 
not talking about the sex.  I can find and have found it 
anywhere.  I'm talking about love; complete and total 
devotion to another person."  She turned away from him and 
gestured widely, "This job won't give me that, and I don't 
think you can either."

B'Elanna sighed and dropped her hands back to her sides.  
Closing her eyes, she shook her head.  "When Voyager 
arrives, I'm going back."  She paused before turning away.  
"I do thank you, though.  You've shown me how much I've 
grown up over the past few years.  I'm not the renegade 
half-Klingon who rebuilt 39 year old engines and kept a ship 
of misfits a half step ahead of the enemy."  Torres' lips 
quirked with wry amusement.  "I'm a respected Starfleet  
officer who rebuilds bio-neural matrices and keeps a ship of 
combined Starfleet  and Maquis one step closer to home.  But 
more than that, I'm a woman who knows what it truly means to 
be loved.  And its time for me to go home."

A soft smile flitted over her lips as she walked out of the 
command room, her mind already forming several variations of 
the words, 'I'm sorry.'

As the door closed behind her, Garrick's previous calm 
shattered violently.  "No!" he raged, slamming a fist down 
onto a nearby console.  "She won't leave here!  I need her!  
She's the only one who can do this.  She will *not* ruin me!  
Computer, locate B'Elanna Torres."

"B'Elanna Torres is in her quarters."

"Security, take B'Elanna Torres into custody."

"On what charge, sir?"

"Illegal off-world transport.  Transporting stolen 
documents, and whatever else you can think up.  She will 
*not* leave this moon!"

"Yes, Your Reverence."

***

Minutes later, B'Elanna found herself struggling between two 
armed guards as she was unceremoniously hauled out of her 
quarters.   "What the hell are you doing?" she raged 
wrenching her arms out of their grasps.  The slight sound of 
phaser-based guns being armed stopped her struggles, though 
it did nothing to ease her ire.  "Let me go!  Garrick will 
hear about this!"

After shoving her through a door, a familiar voice 
interrupted any further railing she might have blasted at 
the guards.  "I'm sorry, B'Elanna, but surely you didn't 
think that I would just let you blithely change your mind 
and walk out on me.  You have too much top secret knowledge 
tucked away behind those lovely cranial ridges of yours.  
There's no limit to the damage you could wreak on this moon 
and my people."

The two Kalattiian men slammed the low-tech cell door closed 
and set the lock-out frequency before moving to stand near 
the doors.

"Garrick, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Torres 
yelled as she jerked the bars impotently, feeling them 
rattle slightly but holding against her Klingon strength.  
"Holding me hostage is not something Voyager is going to 
take lightly."

"Hostage?" Warwich asked, feigning shock, his eyes gleaming 
with evil mirth.  "That's such a *nasty* little word.  I 
prefer to think of your being in protective custody.  After 
all, we will be at war and space travel is so dangerous 
during those times."

"Janeway won't believe you, Petahk!" B'Elanna yelled 
slamming her fists into the wall.

Garrick grew thoughtful, "You're probably right.  But she 
will believe *you*."

"I will *not* lie to my captain!"

"Oh, no, my dear, you won't be doing anything at all," he 
interjected sweetly.  "You see, you'll be too busy making 
last minute adjustments to the ships before we send them up 
into the fight."

"Damn you, Garrick!  You haven't changed!  You're still the 
same conniving self-serving bastard that you were in the 
Alpha Quadrant."

"Perhaps, my dear, but I'm sad to say I was wrong about you! 
You're a coward now.  You pine away for your safe and cozy 
ship and rant and rave over some useless emotion! It's such 
a shame, really.  You were so much more alive back then."  

Without another word, Garrick cut the communication link, 
but Torres, determined to have the last word, hurled 
Klingonaase at the blank screen.

***

Janeway watched the huge gas giant that hung in the middle 
of the viewscreen as she shook off a sudden feeling of 
foreboding.  She had never given much credence to the notion 
before, and if she had her preference, she wouldn't do so 
now.  Nevertheless, she mentally held her breath as she 
waited for the other shoe to drop.  

"Mr. Paris," she directed, shaking off the thought, "plot a 
high orbit around the gas giant.  Hopefully, we'll be able 
to shield ourselves as long as possible to add an element of 
surprise to the attack."  She squared her shoulders and 
turned away from the blue-green orb, ordering, "Mr. Kim, 
open a channel to the moon.  It's time Mr. Warwich and I 
talk strategy."

Inwardly, she still hoped for some sign of B'Elanna -- even 
if it were only a glimpse on the viewscreen.  Something 
wasn't right but, as yet, she couldn't determine what.  "Mr. 
Warwich," she greeted as the Most Reverered's image appeared 
on the screen.

"Captain!" Garrick returned, offering the captain a smile 
which did not reach his eyes.  'Careful, Warwich,' he warned 
himself silently.  'You need their help.  And you damn sure 
don't want them thinking anything is wrong.'  Forcing 
himself to relax, he continued.  "I'm sure you want to get 
started on working out a defense plan."

"That would be the first order of business," she returned 
with a nod of agreement.

Garrick's smile broadened, and hoping to stave off the 
inevitable questions, he answered, "B'Elanna will be as glad 
to hear that as I am.  In fact, she's doing some last minute 
modifications to the fleet as we speak."

Janeway's mouth quirked into a fond smile.  "That sounds 
like the B'Elanna Torres I know."

The Most Revered chuckled good-naturedly all the while 
wondering how the half-Klingon liked her new accommodations.

"Harry," Janeway began decisively, "transfer the comm 
channel to my ready room.  I'd like you, Chakotay, and Tuvok 
to join me to formulate a plan of defense."

The ensign nodded as the captain gave Warwich one last 
measuring look, judging the man's sincerity and finding him 
lacking.  She could feel the commander rising from his seat 
and walking toward her.  "I don't like this, Chakotay," she 
murmured, crossing her arms.  "If everything is so alright, 
why haven't we seen B'Elanna?"

Chakotay leaned toward her, dropping his voice so that his 
words wouldn't be overheard.  "Maybe she *is* busy.  
Readying a fleet of hastily constructed ships isn't easy."  
Janeway shot him a thoughtful look.  "No," the commander 
replied with a cynical smile, "I don't buy it either.  But 
until we hear otherwise, we have no option but to proceed as 
planned."

The captain nodded reluctantly and walked toward the ready 
room, her mind formulating the beginnings of the attack.

***

B'Elanna Torres, in fact, was not enjoying her new 
accommodations at all.  She had paced the length and breadth 
of her cell so often she had lost count, stoking her 
simmering ire into a full-blown rage.  Only then would she 
be able to take on the antiquated titanium bars that held 
her captive.  

She laughed harshly.  In all her years, she had never found 
a machine that she couldn't manipulate, given enough time.  
And yet the one thing that she couldn’t sneak her way past 
was a series of metal bars.  B'Elanna grabbed the bars and 
shook vigorously, reveling in the Klingon rage that flowed 
through her.  Although the action only served to irritate 
her more, she took savage glee in the fact that she had 
frightened off the two guards hours ago.  "Damn you!" she 
raged, then added another curse in Klingon that questioned 
her captors' parentage.

"Think, B'Elanna," she muttered to herself, squeezing her 
hands into fists.  Throwing herself to the floor, she peered 
absently at the cracks in the concrete wall.  A tiny gleam 
of light, unnoticed at first, appeared between the bars and 
the wall.  Her eyes tracked the light trying to find its 
source, and, after a moment, she lunged to her feet.  

There!  Just as she suspected.  The casing that held that 
section of the bars to the concrete had loosened. Whether 
over time or her heated efforts, she didn't care.  All that 
mattered was that it was potentially a way out.  Smelling 
the first wafts of freedom, B'Elanna squeezed her left hand 
between the concrete and the bar and pulled.  

Seconds passed and the gap had widened only centimeters.  
Steeling herself for another try, she took in a deep breath, 
then spied a bright piece of metal along the opposite wall.  
Curious, she walked toward it.  She easily recognized the 
hyperspanner she had absently tucked in her pocket before 
her encounter with Garrick.  "It must have fallen out when 
they threw me in here," she murmured, turning the tool over 
and over.  A satisfied smile crept over her features.  With 
a little luck and ingenuity, she'd be free in no time.

***

"Captain," Warwich remarked, leaning back in his chair, "I 
look forward to the first strike.  Now, if you don't mind, I 
need to go check on B'Elanna and the fleet."

Janeway nodded.  "Once the long range sensors pick up the 
Triorian fleet, we'll move into position and contract you."

"Agreed.  Warwich out."

The captain glanced at her officers.  "Alright, then. Let's 
get moving.  We've got plenty to do before the Triors 
attack."

The trio nodded in agreement and returned to the bridge.  

***

B'Elanna heaved a sigh of relief as the last bar gave way.  
Though it had been tedious, painstaking work, the spanner 
had effectively widened the gap between the bars and the 
wall just enough to allow her the leverage she needed.  She 
squeezed into the small hole and, thanking Kahless she had 
declined Neelix's multiple offers of various chocolate 
delights, inched her way out of the cell.  

Once free, she rushed to the console on the far wall from 
which Garrick had gleefully touted his victory.   Just a few 
minor modifications and…. "Aha!  You don't win that easy, 
Warwich!" she exclaimed as a connection coalesced out of the 
static.  "Torres to Voyager, can you read me?"

On the starship in question, Harry Kim peered intently at 
the subspace communication monitors.  Seeing a blip, he 
remodulated the bands and began to get a slightly distorted 
signal.  "Captain, we've got a message coming in from the 
moon."

Curious, Janeway asked from her seat in the command chair, 
"Is it Warwich?"

"No, I think…yes, it's B'Elanna," Kim answered, startled awe 
filling his voice.  

The captain stood immediately, and offering a sympathetic 
glance to her pilot, ordered, "Put it on screen."

The viewscreen blinked and the gas giant disappeared from 
view, replaced by the fuzzy image of B'Elanna Torres.  
"Torr-- to --ager…" she hailed, the static mincing her 
words.

"Clean it up, Mr. Kim," Chakotay stated briskly as he joined 
Janeway a few feet from the conn.

Harry's fingers danced over the control panel and, within 
seconds, the image cleared.

"Torres to Janeway -"

"We read you, B'Elanna," Kathryn reassured her former chief 
engineer.

"Captain, I'm being held prisoner," Torres began.  

Janeway ignored Paris' sharp intake of breath at her words 
and instead placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  "What 
happened?"

The half-Klingon heaved a sigh of resignation. 'Time to own 
up to one of the two biggest mistakes of your life, Torres,' 
she inwardly urged.  B'Elanna, uncertain of the reaction her 
explanation would bring, forced her gaze to rest solely on 
the captain.  "When Garrick told me you had found the Triors 
en route, I was already having misgivings about my role here 
on the moon.  I had decided that I wanted to go back to 
Voyager.  Needless to say, he didn't take the news very 
well. He flipped out and had me arrested."

"Mr. Tuvok, can you get a lock on her coordinates?"

"Negative, it appears that the cell she is currently in is 
some distance below the surface.  The interference from the 
moon's defense grid is making it difficult to perform a full 
sensor sweep."

"I'll take a shuttle, Captain," Paris stated eagerly, moving 
out of his seat at the conn.

Janeway raised a hand, forestalling any further move by the 
pilot. "Chakotay, I want you to go."

Paris shook his head, unable to believe the captain's 
orders.  "But, Captain--" Paris protested.

She smiled softly, offering her unspoken support for the 
heartbroken man.  "Mr. Paris, I understand your feelings, 
but, given our current position and the possibility of a 
Kalaati attack, once they realize what we're doing, we're 
going to need you right here."

Glancing back to the woman in the viewscreen, Paris nodded 
his reluctant agreement.  'Hang in there, B'Elanna,' he 
silently entreated, 'the calvary's on its way.'

***

11/12

Chakotay sat behind the controls of the Cochrane, his 
thoughts torn between the impending battle and the reunion 
with his former shipmate.  When she had first told him that 
she wanted to leave Voyager, he hadn't doubted her sincerity 
or her resolve.  But somehow, when the time had come, 
Chakotay was still surprised that she had left.  He knew 
that her decision had placed her on the wrong path, however, 
his spirit guide had warned that any interference on his 
part would only be met with anger.  So, he hadn't said a 
word when she left.  Hadn't even said goodbye.  In truth, he 
knew she would be back; the only unknown was when.

The double trill of the sensor alert jerked him away from 
his thoughts.  "Chakotay to Voyager.  I'm right above her 
location.  Scanning for Klingon life signs…"

He tapped out several commands beginning a full sensor sweep 
of the area.  Seeing a lone figure running from the building 
which held the cell, the commander cursed, "Dammit, 
B'Elanna, what are you doing?"  A group of heavily armed 
guards followed her, though they were no match for her long 
strides.  Chakotay locked on to her life signs and Torres, 
feeling the familiar initial tingle of the transporter, 
stopped in her tracks.  

Seconds later, the transport was complete.  "Captain," the 
commander hailed, "I've got her.  We're returning to the 
ship."

Short of breath, B'Elanna took her seat at the tactical 
station.  "Thought I'd give you a diversion."

"Thanks, but a simple beam out would have been preferable," 
the commander replied wryly.

B'Elanna smirked, happy to once again be subject to his 
perverse sense of humor.  In truth, Torres had felt guilty 
about Voyager aiding in her jailbreak and, deciding she had 
already put them through too much trouble, had overpowered 
the guard when he returned to check on her.   

In a matter of moments, the Cochrane was out of the moon's 
atmosphere and winging its way toward the aft cargo bay 
doors.  Chakotay expertly piloted the shuttle through the 
cargo bay doors, landing her with only a slight thud.  He 
glanced over at his passenger, gauging her reaction to her 
surroundings.  "Home sweet home."

"Yeah, it is," she answered.  B'Elanna smiled with 
contentment and sighed, feeling a slight trace of 
uncertainty course through her.  She wasn’t sure just how 
warm the welcome would be…especially by Tom.

***

The daring rescue, quick though it was, had not gone 
unnoticed by The Most Revered.  Kathryn winced internally at 
the piercing edge that fear brought to Warwich's words.  
"Captain Janeway!" Garrick yelled forcefully in the 
viewscreen.  "This is absolutely *outrageous!*  You have 
kidnapped B'Elanna!  I demand her safe return now."

Brow wrinkled in cynical disbelief, the captain crossed her 
arms and countered, "I'm afraid that's impossible, Mr. 
Warwich.  Not only did B'Elanna contact us, she stated that 
*you* were holding her against her will in a prison cell."

Garrick feigned a stunned look.  "That is a lie!  I would 
never hold B'Elanna against her will.  She's my right hand!   
I can't do anything without her!"

The turbolift doors opened just as Warwich finished his vow 
of adoration and revealed the former chief engineer and the 
commander.  "Well, you're just going to have to get used to 
my absence, Garrick," B'Elanna bit out, fiery hatred filling 
her eyes.  "I don't know what I ever saw in you!"

"B'Elanna!" Garrick pleaded.  "I can't win this fight 
without you!  You know that!"

"Maybe it was never yours to win," Janeway answered quietly.  

Warwich narrowed his eyes with menace, anger smoldering in 
their depths.  "Then I guess I'll see you in hell, Captain," 
he swore viciously before severing the communication link.  
He swung away from the console balling his hands into fists 
so tightly that his knuckles gleamed a pale white under his 
tanned skin.  "*Dammit!*" he raged, slamming one of his 
fists into the nearest wall, denting the surface slightly.  
"Fine, if she wants to leave the best offer she's ever had 
then let her.  She can live or die for all I care."  A light 
of inspiration flickered through his eyes as his mind turned 
over all the possibilities in that statement.  

He turned back to the Kalattii man who stood at the moon's 
defense system.  "Phrashel, target the lunar defense grid on 
Voyager's coordinates," Garrick ordered, his tone chilling 
the already frosty air in the command room a few more 
degrees.

Phrashel turned to The Most Revered, uncertain if he had 
heard him correctly.  "Sir?" he asked, his confusion 
evident.  

"Dammit!  I told you to target all defense systems on 
Voyager.  If I can't have her, then she won't have her 
beloved ship," Garrick swore motioning for the Kalattiian to 
obey.  "Fire!"

***

"Captain," Tuvok's unflappable voice intoned from his post.  
"The Kalattii are firing."  Seconds after he had spoken, 
Voyager rocked slightly with the impact.

"Damage report!" ordered Chakotay as he steadied Janeway.

The Vulcan stoically checked the read-outs.  "Damage is 
minimal.  Shields are at 85% and holding."

"Captain!" Harry interrupted.  "The Triors are now within 
visual range and are arming weapons."

Janeway nodded and glanced over her shoulder at Torres who 
still stood near the turbolift, unsure of her place on the 
Bridge.  "Mr. Paris, get us out of here."

Tom quirked a satisfied smile and answered enthusiastically, 
"Yes, ma'am!"  He personally couldn't wait to put several 
light years between Voyager and the moon.

The captain smothered a smile and turned to Chakotay as he 
took his seat.  "The minute we leave this solar system, I 
want all senior staff in the briefing room."  She watched the 
flicker of regret flit through B'Elanna's eyes and inwardly 
sighed with relief.  "You, too, Ms. Torres."

***
12/12

"Captain," Paris stated.  "We're approaching 10 light years 
distance from the Kalattii moon."

"Thank you, Mr. Paris."  Janeway stood and surveyed the 
Bridge crew quickly.  "Alright, everyone..."

Relief officers quickly left their posts to man the main 
systems as the Bridge officers made their way to the 
meeting.  B'Elanna turned and followed Janeway before she 
could meet the eyes of her former peers.  Elation mixed with 
dread and sent her stomachs into a queasy tumult.  

As the Bridge officers took their seats, Janeway and 
B'Elanna remained standing.  The captain slowly sat, 
indicating that Torres had their full attention.  She bit 
her lip, indecision warring over her caramel features.  
Finally, she murmured, "Gods, I had this all planned out.  I 
knew exactly what I was going to say, how to say it, and now 
that we're all here..."  She paced away from the table, 
gathering her thoughts and her resolve.  "First off," she 
began, turning decisively back to the group, "I want to 
apologize."  Her gaze drifted around the room, coming to 
rest on Tom Paris for a moment before returning to the 
captain.  

"I know I put everyone in a bind by leaving so suddenly.  
But at the time, I was doing what I thought was *right*."

Janeway smiled softly as she leaned forward to rest her arms 
on the table.  "No one doubts your sincerity, B'Elanna."

Torres bit back a harsh bark of laughter.  "Good," she 
answered, "because I doubt my sanity."  She walked to the 
wall console and stared blankly at it.  "At first, it was 
just like old times."

Paris winced visibly at her words, his imagination 
envisioning just which 'old times' she meant.  Harry shot 
him a supportive look as the half-Klingon continued.  "I 
built the ships, he trained the crew.  Toward the end we 
were running drills. Everything was working perfectly.  

"We sent out one of the scout ships on a trial run a few 
light years and back.  Nothing too big.  The whole process 
was filled with celebration and there was even a token 
dignitary on board when the ship left orbit."  B'Elanna 
paused and shook her head.  "They contacted us about an hour 
after take off.  They had encountered a Triorian patrol.  
All hands were lost, including Janell, the First Prefect, 
who was the dignitary.

"When the news reached the moon, Garrick changed.  I don't 
know which was worse, losing his prototype ship or the 
person who had supported him most.  Either way, he went from 
charming and dedicated to cold and devious.  A man bent on 
domination rather than just resistance."  She paused, 
reflecting on the man she once knew.  "It wasn't something I 
expected.  But it made me realize that that wasn't the life 
I wanted to live. I didn't have to choose between Maquis and 
Starfleet .  Subconsciously, I had made my real choice long 
ago when I accepted the position of Chief Engineer."  

B'Elanna glanced at the captain, uncertainty easily readable 
in her eyes. "I needed to return to Voyager…to come home.  
If you'll have me."

Janeway offered the younger woman an understanding smile and 
rose from her seat. "I believe I speak for all of us when I 
say, it's good to have you back," she welcomed warmly, fond 
affection seeping into her voice.  A mysterious smile tinged 
her lips as Kathryn walked toward B'Elanna.  Holding out her 
hand, the captain sobered and stated in her most no-nonsense 
tone, "I believe you're out of uniform, Lieutenant." 

Torres looked down at Janeway's outstretched hand and smiled 
widely.  Picking up the silver communicator, she replied 
staunchly, "Yes, Ma'am!"

Pleased with the outcome, the Bridge crew relaxed easily, 
smiles slipping over several faces.  The captain clapped her 
hands together and ordered, "Alright, then, everyone back to 
work!"

The officers filed out quickly leaving Paris and Torres 
alone in the conference room.  They stood at opposite ends 
of the room, neither saying a word, both equally scared of 
what the other was thinking.  After a long period of 
uncomfortable silence, they began to speak at once.  
Chuckling weakly, Tom gestured for B'Elanna to continue.

"Kahless, Tom.  I'm sorry. I-I was so mixed up."  The pain 
in her voice forced his gaze to hers and she closed some of 
the space between them.  "Garrick told me everything I 
wanted to hear.  He played to my guilt over the Maquis and 
appealed to the pride I have in being an engineer.  It was 
so stupid.  He said he would give me everything and I didn't 
realize that all I ever wanted was right here on Voyager: a 
fulfilling job, people who respect me, friends who support 
me, and, most of all, a man who loves me..."  Slowly, she 
walked toward him until mere centimeters separated them.  

B'Elanna searched his features, and seeing the uncertainty 
in his eyes, she continued rapidly, "God, I know I screwed 
up. You have every right to hate me for the hell I put you 
through and the lies I told you…"  She was babbling, but she 
couldn't seem to stop.  Not knowing if they still had a 
chance was no better than knowing that their relationship 
was over.  She dreaded his answer as much as she needed to 
hear it, to hear that he didn't hate her, that she hadn't 
ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her.

"They aren't lies if you believe them." Tom raised a 
trembling hand and traced his fingers along her jawline. His 
fingers drifted almost of their own volition around her 
cheek and over her lips as if refamiliarizing himself with 
her features.  'God, I love her,' he thought, marveling at 
the smooth texture of her skin.

B'Elanna leaned into his touch, aching to feel his arms 
wrapped around her, cocooning her in his warm embrace.  The 
minutes stretched until there was nothing in the universe 
except them.  At length, Tom cupped the back of her head, 
drawing it to his chest as he sifted his fingers through her 
silky hair.  B'Elanna heaved a relieved sigh.

"We can't go back to where we were," Tom murmured with 
regret.  

B'Elanna lifted her eyes to his, the tears that suddenly 
formed in the brown pools barely leashed.  She nodded with 
regret silently mourning the loss of their past.  Swallowing 
the lump that was painfully lodged in her throat, she asked, 
"But can we go on from here?"

He was quiet, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions 
that roiled through him.  She had chosen her past over him 
once, would she do it again?  And if so, could he go on?  
Torres slipped her hand up to cup his jaw as she read the 
fear in his eyes.  "I know you're worried -- you have every 
right to be."  She ran her thumb across the phantom scar on 
his cheek.  "But, it's only love. Don’t be afraid, Tom.  
Don't let a childish mistake destroy everything we've built 
together.  I love you," she murmured into his neck offering 
him the solace that his heart needed.  "It's all I have to 
give." _But is it enough?_ cried her heart.  'Please let it 
be enough,' she pleaded silently, increasingly aware that he 
had yet to respond.

After a millennia of moments, each bringing its own heart-
rending outcome, Tom leaned forward and pressed a kiss to 
her forehead, savoring the feel of her cranial ridges 
against his lips.  Relief, heady as the strongest blood 
wine, coursed through her.  It was enough.

"B'Elanna," he began softly, his voice scratchy as if he 
hadn't spoken in years.  "I love *you.*  Not just the person 
you were or the person you are now, but all of you."  Tom's 
fingers feathered through her dark tresses as he rememorized 
the feel of them.  "I never want you to think that I would 
stop loving you just because you made some bad choices.  If 
nothing else," he chuckled wryly, "that would be 
hypocritical."  

Basking in the all-encompassing maleness of his scent, and 
unable to fight the temptation any longer, B'Elanna licked 
him just above his uniform collar.  She felt him tighten his 
hold on her as the electric jolt her touch created coursed 
through him.  After a moment of silence, B'Elanna uttered 
the final balm to the wounds she had knowingly inflicted so 
many weeks ago.  "In answer to your question, no."  Tom drew 
away from her and looked at her blankly, clearly not 
remembering the context of the discussion.

Torres forced her gaze to his hoping not to see what she 
dreaded to find in his eyes.  "You asked me if Garrick made 
me feel like you make me feel.  And the answer is no."  

Paris tensed at the subject, but did not drop his arms.  
B'Elanna took that as a good sign.  "How *did* he make you 
feel?" he asked hating himself for still needing to know the 
answer.

She bit her lower lip, searching for the right words to 
describe the situation.  "Alive, but incomplete.  Looking 
back on it, it was almost as if we did it out of rebellion.  
Against what, I'm not sure."

Tom swallowed, mentally preparing himself for her answer to 
his next question.  "And how do I make you feel?"

A soft smile spread over her face as she cupped his cheek.  
Relishing the contentment that washed over her, in a voice 
filled with tenderness, she answered, "Loved.  Totally, 
completely and absolutely.  Nothing in the world can replace 
that feeling."

Joy incarnate radiated back at her.  The dull light in his 
blue eyes was rapidly replaced by elation and, strangely 
enough, a sense of recognition.  "There's the girl," Paris 
murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting.  "There's 
B'Elanna Torres."  And lowering his mouth to hers, he began 
the reintroductions.

END